Царевна Лягушка (Tsarevna Lyagushka)
by Mafuyu no Seiza
Summary: There's one Russian fairy tale that can probably describe their story and Natasha wants to hear Steve's take on it. Romanogers.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** Hello everyone! I'm back with a new story. This is, again, as series of one-shots that are somehow connected. I kinda find this fairy tale cute and one of those cases where the princess is the one who actually gets the job done._

 _Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Do drop a comment if you can!_ _спасибо!_

 ** _Царевна Лягушка (Tsarevna Lyagushka)_**

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"Oh, I see that you are immersing yourself in Russian fairy tales," Natasha cocked an eyebrow at her partner, eyeing the old brown book.

"Well, they're very interesting… and different," Steve shrugged. "The fairy tales I know were all similar but these stuff, they're new to me."

"Hmm…" the spy said disinterestedly.

"Do you know some of these stories, Nat?"

"Hmmm…" Natasha sat on the couch and busied herself by wiping her gun with a rag. "I didn't know that Captain America likes princess stories." She bit her lip, remembering her short childhood. "Yeah, I think I kinda know some of them… the creepy, gory ones," she added with a smirk.

"Well, I do like some princess stories," he said.

"Oh, so that you can be the prince who will save the damsel in distress?"

Steve placed the book down after carefully placing a bookmark in the middle of its pages. "Interestingly, not all fairy tales contain damsels in distress and that's what I like about my favorite story."

Natasha looked into the captain's eyes and tried to interpret the riddles that he was talking about. However, being with her for a long time taught him some tricks. He remained clear and walled to her. In the end, she just reciprocated his remark with a small smile.

"Well then, care to tell me a bed time story?" she said with a slight grin before making herself comfortable lying on his stomach. "Ow, this is like having rocks as pillows," she commented, hitting his abdomen a bit before making herself comfortable.

However, instead of turning the page, Steve closed the book and placed it on the bedside table. "Alright, as you wish..."


	2. Whoever catches the stone, shall be?

**A/N:** I know that the first introductory chapter was short. But I hope you'll believe me when I say it's gonna get weird because it has taken a new direction. Anyway, does anyone here know the original Tsarevna Lyagushka? It's really enjoyable writing with that as backbone. :D

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 **1: Whoever catches the stone, shall be...?**

Steve straightened up. It was his first day of joining SHIELD as an agent. He was not really used to this kind of fighting: shadows, deception, lies. He was a soldier, for goodness' sake! He looked at Fury, who was just silently eyeing him.

"We don't really have big teams in missions. Yes, we have some STRIKE teams but first and foremost, you should have a partner," the director said. Steve just nodded. "And the way you choose a partner is by trying to spar with these agents here and see which one of them suits you." The man smirked. "Like a natural dancing partner."

"Like a dancing partner, huh?" he said.

"You can put it that way."

The sparring sessions started. Fury made sure to give the best agents for the captain's choosing. He was able to knock them out easily, however. The notion of the 'dancing partner' was vague for him and he was able to knock down everyone while holding back.

"Is there anyone else?" Steve asked the director, panting. He was able to beat all the agents up and he felt like he should probably work alone.

"So, is the soldier looking for someone his equal?" a familiar voice commented. He looked at the doorway and saw Natasha, wearing a black top and looking smug. After having eye contact with Fury, she made her way towards the platform where she and Steve could spar.

"Agent Romanoff..." the soldier started, a bit confused. "What is...?"

"Well, if this is an audition to be your dancing partner, let me show you some mad skills," she said in her normal, sleepy tone. She went into fighting stance and without any warning started charging towards Steve.

The super soldier was caught by surprise that he went two steps backward. He regained his balance and started to defend himself, perfectly stopping Natasha's attacks. He had seen her do her tricks, especially when she attempted to climb on his back. Instead of succeeding, she was thrown down. She got up with a perfect somersault, blowing a wisp of her hair.

"Not bad for an old man," she said with a smirk. Steve just smiled at her. His normal blushing tendencies were usually deactivated when he's on fight-mode. However, he could not really hit this woman, or maybe he was making up excuses since he could not really get through her line of defense.

While she was perfectly avoiding his attacks and he perfectly jumped away from her legs, that's when he realized what Fury meant by a natural dancing partner.

"Woah!" he exclaimed as this Eureka moment also removed his focus on the fight, enabling Natasha to get him off his feet and landing on his chest, her fist a few inches from his face. She gave a smirk and a seductive wink at him before getting up.

"I think... you've found a partner," Fury said, giving three claps that could be considered his applause.

"Wha...?" the super soldier replied, panting in between. The sudden rush of blood to his head made him dizzy.

"I think Romanoff is the best match for you," Fury said. "You also complement each other's movements." Steve noticed how proud Fury was when it came to Natasha. And it seemed like he orchestrated that the captain's inevitable partner would be the Russian spy. With a small nod, Natasha offered a hand end helped him stand up.

Steve had hoped that the rising blood in his cheeks would be hidden by the natural blush after a workout. He quickly let go of Natasha's hand and then looked at her as she stood, her posture intimidating to a normal person. He had worked with her in New York but he had never really talked to her. To be honest, he had doubts about her. She was too... secretive. And he was the type of man who wanted to know who he was facing.

Fury left the two in the gym and there was only silence. Steve could even hear his own breathing. Natasha walked towards her duffel bag and grabbed some towels, throwing one at Steve.

"So, Cap, are you having second thoughts of pointing at me?" she asked, not looking at her.

Steve bit his lip. He knew that he was a bad liar. Add the fact that he sucked in talking with women. "What makes you say that?"

"I can read your mind," she replied, looking at him with her bright green eyes. Steve was shocked and his eyes widened. A mind-reader would be the last thing he needed.

"At ease, Rogers," she then said, a small amused smile hanging on her lips. "I'm just joking. I know you'll love me," she stated as she swung the bag over her shoulder. "Well, I actually don't care whether you like me or not but let me tell you: I can do a lot of things while you are sleeping," she added with a wink before leaving him in the gym, loss for words.


	3. Shedding the Frog Skin at Night

**A/N:** Hey soldiers! I know I have some chapters in stock but I suddenly got stuck in the middle. I hope we're all doing fine here.

Hope to hear from you, guys! Enjoy this very short chapter!

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 **2: Shedding the Frog Skin at Night**

"I guess we are stuck in here," Natasha said without a hint of panic. They were stuck in an isolated farmhouse as there was a sudden change in the mission plan. She looked at Steve, who was sporting a wound; fortunately, the bullet just grazed on the skin so there was no harm done... on Steve's level.

"Y-yeah," he hissed. Of course it hurt. He was only human. "I think I need a night to patch myself up."

"Patch yourself up," Natasha repeated while rolling her eyes. She pulled the tattered curtain a little bit to check on the surroundings. "Rogers, you're kinda forgetting that you have me here. Your partner, remember?"

"You don't really strike me as a cooperative teammate," he said honestly. Looking at her stoic face that was more quiet than usual, he tried to explain himself, "Don't get me wrong, Romanoff. I mean, it's a nice surprise."

He looked at her face through the small amount of moonlight passing through the window. He saw it briefly: that look of surprise. She then blinked and resumed her window surveillance. "Well, Fury's gonna fire me if I leave his best soldier in a farmhouse to rot." She walked towards him. "I actually have the ability to finish this mission alone, Rogers."

"Without a backup?"

"Who needs one?" she said, raising her eyebrows. "Anyway, I saw a light about a mile away. I can get something to patch you up."

She was about to leave when Steve caught her arm. "I... I suggest otherwise," he said in almost a murmur, his confidence going down the drain as they made eye contact. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Those men in the HYDRA base actually saw us. You might get into trouble."

"Rogers, being invisible is in my resume," Natasha smirked. She touched Steve's hand that was holding her arm to try to get off. However, both froze in an awkward silence.

"Still... I don't think that's a good idea," the captain sighed. He didn't want Natasha to be out of his sight because he would feel uneasy to let his partner off in this dangerous territory. "I'm gonna be okay..."

"With your wound wrapped in dirty linen. Riiiiight," she said with a nod. She heaved a sigh and then gave a shrug. She removed her arm from his grasp with a little bit of force (Steve admitted that it kinda stung a little) and stood up straight. "Well, in normal situations, I would be more stubborn but I'm damn tired," she said with a yawn and an arm stretch to emphasize the point. Steve watched, his hand decreasing pressure on his wound, as Natasha made herself comfortable in a corner, snoozing a little.

The super soldier could not help but look at her peaceful form. Natasha, when awake, was a walking bomb. Her glare could freeze people and a lot of her remarks were poisonous. Steve was immune to her quips, however, and he was glad that even though the spy kept on teasing about him being an old man, she could actually be dorky beyond that cold, ruthless image.

After about an hour, Steve felt the effects of exhaustion; his eyelids were heavy and fortunately or unfortunately, his injury was getting better and he could not feel it sting. Leaning on the wooden wall, he dozed off.

When he woke up, he found himself lying on the floor, on top of a white quilt that somehow made him feel comfortable. "Natasha?" he called out, sitting up. He looked at his injured arm. The dirty linen he used last night was replaced by a clean gauze and it smelled like antiseptic. Only one person could have done that.

"Hey, soldier," a voice called him, almost making him jump. He saw Natasha's radio docked on the table. "Feeling better?"

He rubbed the back of his neck while looking around anxiously. "Y-yeah," he answered. "Thanks." Steve narrowed his eyes in realization. "Where are you?" he asked, hoping that he was able to hide his worry within his commanding tone.

"Relax, lover boy. I'm up here in a tree, looking at our mission. It seemed like they thought we gave up. The level of security isn't as good as yesterday."

"W-well, that's great," he managed to answer as he tried to stand up.

"No, no, no," she said. "You're not standing up." The captain looked at the radio in disbelief.

"Romanoff, do you have a surveillance camera here or something?"

"Well, if you're stripping, that would be nice. I can sell the coverage to some SHIELD ladies."

"That's ridiculous."

"Yeah, but I can. Just sit still and I'll be back before you can say 'I'm a senile old man.'"

"Ha ha," he just replied with a shake of a head.

A few minutes later, the red-haired spy got inside the farmhouse and dropped a plastic bag. Food. "I told you I can do a lot of things while you're sleeping..." she said with a wink.


	4. The Morning Hour is

**A/N:** No one could have noticed but I think I went out for quite some time. Sorry for the short, boring chapter but I hope you enjoy!

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 **C** **hapter 3: The Morning Hour is a better adviser than the dark evening.**

Steve could not sleep that night. He would usually go to the training room to destroy some punching bags but he opted to set up his canvass and draw something. However, he was just staring at the white sheet, unable to get an idea.

"Pssst... hey..." a voice interrupted. His eyes travelled to the door and thanks to his enhanced abilities, he could make out the silhouette of a woman. Natasha, in fact.

"Hey," he replied. She walked towards him and stopped halfway, folding her arms and showing a frown.

"Can't sleep?"

Steve just nodded. His hand was twirling the brush like a baton, not knowing its use at that moment. "Thinking about a lot of things."

"You know, there's an old saying," Natasha started. "The morning hour is a better adviser than the dark evening."

Steve just nodded at her.

"If you can't understand English, that basically means 'try to sleep', grandpa," the spy said with a smirk.

"Well, that was deep," he answered with sass.

"What are you painting?" the girl asked. He liked the fact that she was not attempting to run behind him and see his empty canvass.

"Nothing special," he answered with a soft smile. "Just the usual trees, flowers and mountains," he lied.

"I see," she answered. He quite knew that the woman was not satisfied with his generic answer but he appreciated her not crossing any lines. "Nope, Rogers, you're still not good at it." She went nearer and grabbed her arm.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to make you sleep," she said simply.

"What?"

"A lullaby will do. If not, I can knock you out," the Black Widow said. They both entered Steve's bedroom. She patted the soft bed: a silent order for him to hit the sheets. He gave a smirk before going to bed.

He lied on his stomach, looking at the white ceiling. He looked at his side, and saw Natasha sitting on the stool beside him, looking at the little bits and pieces on his bedside table (there was only an old alarm clock on it). "How about you, Natasha? Aren't you going to sleep?"

She shrugged. "The last time I slept beside you, you were complaining about your bones," she said.

He blushed. The last time Natasha requested to sleep beside him, he tried not to move a lot so he felt his bones stiffen the next morning. However, he found himself saying, "I don't mind. Come on. I know that you can't sleep too."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," she responded, jumping like a cat on the top of the bed, hitting Steve's stomach with her foot in the process. She placed an arm over his chest and murmured, "Rogers, just follow my wisdom and try to sleep. Think about stuff in the morning."

"Yeah. Thanks, Philosopher Romanoff," he answered, giving a pat on her hand before closing his eyes. He could feel Natasha's warm breath beside him and that made him feel comfortable, like a soft wind singing to him to sleep. He did fell asleep.

The thing is, Steve Rogers was not really used to long hours of sleeping (he already had the longest nap someone could ever had) so he found himself awake at 4 in the morning. However, unlike the artistic block earlier, his mind was swimming in ideas. He did his best to pull away from Natasha, which was apparently difficult because he was too excited to put paint on canvass.

He managed to tiptoe out of the room, stopping a bit as he saw the spy stir. He sat on the stool in front of his blank canvass and took a pencil to start the outline of his latest hidden masterpiece (no one really saw his paintings, except for Natasha when she's persistent).

"The morning hour is a better adviser than the dark evening," he repeated under his breath with a smile as he looked at his sketch in satisfaction. It was time to put color on the canvass. With a small smile, he dipped his brush in his red paint, trying to capture the same perfect shade of his partner's hair.

Steve went back to bed before the sun rose. He woke up and went to the room where he left the canvass to dry and saw Natasha staring at the painting, her arms folded and her lips pursed. For a moment, he was nervous. Was his painting horrible?

"Good morning, Steve," she mumbled, still looking at the painting as though she was a legitimate art critic. She was looking at a painting of herself, standing under the night sky, her red hair as the focus of the artwork.

"'Morning," he replied with a yawn.

"What's this?"

"Well, you said that the morning looks more beautiful than the dark evening," he replied.

"I said, 'the morning hour is a better adviser than the dark evening.' Did you clean your ears?"

Steve just rolled his eyes. Of course he knew what Natasha said. But he just said, "Well, you are my morning adviser." He did not know how he did it but he noticed the subtle changes of Natasha's facial features. He probably said something right.


	5. How about a dance?

**Chapter 4: How about a dance?**

Steve was tense. He looked at the people around him. It was a small party hosted by Tony. Since it was hosted by Tony and paid for by the billionaire, it was nowhere small. The soldier was standing at the side like a wallflower, looking at everyone having fun.

But he tensed up further when a certain red-haired spy approached him, a glass held in her left hand. Natasha sometimes boasted that she could make good cocktails. It was needed for missions where she would display herself as a bartender. But anyway, her cocktails were indeed good. But he was usually the only one who could finish her specialty.

"Bottoms up, Cap," she said, giving the glass of blood-red colored cocktail to him. "This is my specialty."

"Hmm, are you giving that to me because no one else is that stupid to drink that again?"

Natasha scoffed. "Come now, Rogers, I made this especially for you," she said with a seductive wink. "Only you can handle this…"

Steve hung his head in defeat. He took the glass and drank everything in one gulp. "Happy?" he said. Natasha's special cocktail actually tasted good. However, she probably used the hardest liquor that anyone, other than Steve, who took a sip of it could get knocked out in a minute. That was why no one could drink the whole thing.

Steve smirked deep inside. The best part of the drink would be the last part since the aftertaste would have a hint of something heavenly that he could not describe. Nobody else had reached that point.

"So, soldier, why are you being a wallflower here?" she asked, nudging him with her elbow. "You are actually the most wanted guy in the dancefloor and you're here, acting like you're some pitiful virgin."

Steve blushed. Before he could open his mouth to respond, he saw Clint walk towards his friend. "It seems like Cap is not interested to dance."

"Boo hoo. His hip bone might break," Natasha said with a small laugh. "Hey, want to try my specialty?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. I want to get home without crashing the car."

"Soo, Grandpa Steve. We'll go have some fun now," she said. "Try dancing with someone. Anyone!" she said.

"Natasha, I…"

"If you don't, I'm gonna make an extra hard version of my Black Widow cocktail and I'll make you drink," she threatened, her green eyes bigger than usual.

Steve exhaled loudly. She could not really threaten him with the drink since it did not have an effect on him. But he did not really want to indulge himself with it because he might long for that strange aftertaste. He saw the spy glare at one of the Accounting girls and cock her head towards Steve as if saying, _"Hey, you, dance with this dude or else!"_

The next hour consisted of Steve painfully dancing with the girls Natasha pushed towards him. The combination of his nonexistent dancing skills and his awkwardness towards women made the party experience the worst ever. He sometimes glanced at Natasha and would sometimes see her sniggering with Clint or facepalming in frustration at his failure.

He thankfully smiled as the last girl his partner pushed to him bade him a nice night before leaving him on the floor. However, before Steve could escape to the sides, a pair of hands grasped his, forcing his right hand on her waist. He almost gasped in surprise when he saw who it was, his blue eyes meeting her green ones.

"Hmm, I'll give you a pitiful 5 out of ten," she said.

"For what?"

"Captain America, the nation's golden boy, sucks in dancing and talking with women," she said mockingly.

"Well, thanks for the award," he replied.

The spy smiled. "Let me teach you so some skills. Let's see how your enhanced brain capacity can handle this crash dancing lesson."

"And you will give it."

"Well, that's also part of…"

"… your resume," Steve finished with a grin. He gave an expectant sigh. "I wonder when I'll actually see that skill of yours."

For a moment, he saw Natasha's cocky grin disappear. However, she was able to regain that expression on her face, her lip twitching to show a smirk. "Well, keep on wishing, Cap."

She started steering him across the dancefloor, hissing instructions, kicking his legs and stepping on his feet to lead him to the right directions. He did not really mind as he was looking at Natasha's face. She was carrying herself very well even though she was secretly instructing him. Her eyes shone bright under the lights of the chandelier; her hair that was effortlessly curled at the ends; and her simple make up – mainly the bright red shade of her lips that really matched with her hair.

He was too busy looking at her that he did not realize that the music had ended and the remaining guests - mainly the Avengers – were applauding.

Clint was whistling. "Yay, Cap finally learned how to dance!"

"Wow, in fairness, you did well," Natasha said, giving him three claps.

"Thanks, Natasha. I won't be able to get out of bed tomorrow," he grunted. The end of their dance number brought him back to earth and subjected him to the full impact of Natasha's harsh dance lesson. He sat down and watched the woman perform a pirouette, making her dress flow with her, before proceeding to the bar to make another round of her venomous cocktail.

Steve left silently, going to his floor in the Avengers' tower. He had the strange feeling that if Natasha did the same dancing lesson to other people, they would not be able to walk forever. Looking at his feet, he realized that the pain was not so bad. "Natasha could have had it worse," he said to himself, remembering the files that he had read about her. It really surprised him that she also danced, ballet in particular.

His mouth opened in a silent yelp of pain as he removed his shoes and socks, revealing bruised feet. He dropped his pants and observed some bluish marks on his legs.

"How are you feeling, Rogers?" Natasha's voice said. He turned around and found her at the doorway.

He immediately put on some sweatpants and a plain black shirt. He sat down. "Exhausted," he replied. "You are… ummm… an intense teacher."

Natasha held out a salve. She sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside her to make Steve sit as well. She pulled his leg and immediately applied the salve on the bruised skin. He moaned at the nice cool feeling.

"When we were being trained, we were hit on the legs for every mistake," she muttered more to herself. "This herbal salve was very helpful," She finished applying and gave a slight pat on Steve's leg. "There."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Natasha stood up and made her way towards the entrance. Steve felt a bit disappointed that she was leaving already. "Oh…" She turned around again.

"Hmm…?"

"You are actually a good dancer. You just need some practice."

"Yeah. You said it yourself. Everybody needs practice," Steve replied with a grin. He would not mind having Natasha as his dancing teacher.


End file.
